


Change Your Story

by abp



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Romeo and Juliet AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 07:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abp/pseuds/abp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes love is easy, but other times you fall in love with someone you really shouldn't. And then it gets a little tricky. Or: The Romeo & Juliet AU no one wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of important things. When/where is this set? WHO KNOWS. An alternate world where modern-ish dialogue and other things are okay despite them not having electricity or cell phones. Should you take this fic seriously? OH GOD NO. It's going to steadily get more ridiculous and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Okay, now you may read.

“Do we have to go?”

Courfeyrac sighed heavily. Marius whining, he could deal with. But this wasn’t him whining, this was him being utterly resigned and _sad_. There were only so many weepy, doe-eyed looks that Courfeyrac could take before he was going to lose it.

“Marius,” he coaxed softly, moving an arm around his cousin’s shoulder. “It will be fun. You need something to cheer you up after what’s-her-name.”

“Ursula,” Marius supplied sullenly. “I think. She looks like an Ursula.”

Courfeyrac very kindly refrained from rolling his eyes. For all that Marius was dreamy and removed from reality, Courfeyrac didn’t have the heart to bring him down. Marius was too sweet and harmless to hurt.

“Whatever her name is, Marius, you need to move on. And maybe find someone who doesn’t live in a nunnery this time,” he told him gently.

“I’ll never love anyone else,” Marius moaned.

“There, there,” Courfeyrac patted his shoulder and ended up with Marius burying his face against his neck. “You never know.”

“I do know,” Marius mumbled.

Courfeyrac sighed again, petting Marius’ hair. “Will you please come to the party?”

Marius looked up at him warily. “Isn’t it the Capulets’ party?”

“That’s what makes it fun.”

“Courf, if we get caught there—“

“Ah, but we won’t,” Courfeyrac assured. “Everyone will be wearing masks.”

Marius sighed, still looking reluctant. “Alright. As long as you don’t abandon me this time.”

**

Capulet paced the front of the room thoughtfully. Five steps left, turn, five step right. He paused. “Your offer is tempting, Count Paris. However, I want my son to marry for love.”

The Count looked affronted. “My daughter Musichetta—“

“Is a gem,” Capulet interrupted smoothly. “Surely she will win the heart of my son with a single look. And can’t we agree that a match between them would be much better if they agree to it first?”

“This is untraditional.”

Capulet gave a calm smile. “He is my only child—is it untraditional to wish to see him happy in his marriage?” He paused. “Of course I would like to see him choose your daughter; they would be a good match and she has my approval.”

The Count frowned. “But?”

“But they are still young. Give them time to warm to one another, if that is where fate leads them.”

Capulet knew that the Count’s terse nod was more from the fact that the Capulet fortune was worth jumping through hoops from rather than any agreement on the subject.

“Bring your daughter to the masquerade tonight,” he said, placatingly. “Our children will surely find love there.”

**

Combeferre watched his mother leave his chambers with a frown. The second she was gone, Bahorel peered in through the doorway with a grin.

“So, what’s this I hear about a _girl_ for you?”

“I could have your head for eavesdropping,” Combeferre replied easily.

Bahorel scoffed and stretched out beside Combeferre on his bed. “There’s no way you could find a better guard than me.” He nudged Combeferre. “So what are you going to do about this _Musichetta_?”

Combeferre shrugged a little helplessly. “Hopefully she won’t like me.”

Bahorel let out a bark of a laugh. “That’s some plan.”

“And what’s your wise council?” Combeferre asked dryly.

“Tell them you’re gay already.”

Combeferre groaned. “You know my father won’t like that.”

“Then I hope your new wife isn’t expecting much from the marital bed.”

Combeferre shoved him lightly; Bahorel only laughed. That was what he got for getting too familiar with the servants. “I’ll figure out something. They won’t _make_ me marry her.”

Bahorel looked him over with an uncharacteristic seriousness. “You might be able to get out of this one, but eventually you’re going to have to marry or admit the truth.”

“I know,” Combeferre sighed. “Just not yet.”

**

“Come, young Marius,” Grantaire crooned, a smirk on his lips and a bottle in hand.

They had only reached the outside gates to the Capulet’s manor and Marius was already flushed pink from the others’ insistent teasing.

“Will you leave him alone?” Courfeyrac sighed goodnaturedly.

“I’m not bothering him,” Grantaire insisted. “Am I, Marius?” Before Marius could do more than open his mouth, Grantaire had an arm slung around his shoulder and was continuing. “We’re two kindred spirits, we are. Lovers. _Dreamers_.”

“I told you to keep him from drinking,” Courfeyrac muttered towards Bossuet and Marius saw him shrug.

“Have you had any dreams about your fair-haired beauty, Marius?” Grantaire asked with that same sharp smirk. “Of her soft lips parted for you in ecstasy?”

“ _Grantaire_ ,” Marius hissed, cheeks reddening further. “That’s not—“

“Come now, there’s no harm in _dreaming_. Not when it’s love—and it is love isn’t it, Marius?” Grantaire taunted, too light and playful for Marius to actually get angry. “Lovers are dreamers and dreamers dream of love. Shouldn’t you dream of your glowing beauty?”

“That’s enough, Grantaire,” Bossuet chimed in. Marius shot him a grateful look when he pulled Grantaire away. “One more of your speeches on love and dreaming and I can’t guarantee you won’t get stabbed.”

Grantaire grinned. “Then you’d find me a grave man.”

Courfeyrac groaned. “Enough of you,” he said, fondly. “Come, straighten your masks—we’ve arrived.”

“You’re in luck, good Bossuet, I’ve been cut short by fate.”

Marius ignored the last of their bickering, focused on adjusting his mask as they entered the grand hall. As much as Courfeyrac had assured things would go smoothly, he was nervous about getting caught.

“Tonight we feast like Capulets,” Bossuet grinned.

Grantaire clapped him on the back and the two were off towards the huge buffet table, talking mischief.

Marius remained beside Courfeyrac, letting himself take in the splendor of the room—the high painted ceiling and the large glass chandeliers dangling down, glistening; the people everywhere, laughing and dancing in elaborate costumes with masks made of all sorts of wonderful things, even large, colorful peacock feathers; the marbles and golds and fine materials everywhere.

“Courfey—“ Marius cut off as he looked back to where his cousin was, finding only empty air. He let out a pained sigh. “This always happens,” he murmured before wandering off on his own at the party he didn’t even want to come to.

**

Musichetta wasn’t impressed by the Capulets’ party, not when she was being dragged along as an object—nothing more than a pretty offering for the Capulet family in exchange for a large dowry to sustain her father’s spending habits. She refused to speak to him the entire coach ride and wasn’t about to start anytime soon. Her mood wasn’t helped at all when her father and Capulet pushed her and her potential suitor, Combeferre, together nearly the second she arrived.

She forced a smile for the benefit of the adults, but the second they left her alone with him—this gangly boy with an owl mask and sandy hair—she glared.

“Listen here,” she poked his chest. “I’m not marrying you. I’d rather poison myself than marry you.”

He blinked. “Okay.”

“Okay?” she repeated.

“I mean, suicide seems like a very permanent response to a temporary problem,” Combeferre reasoned. “But I don’t want to marry you either.”

Musichetta stared at him for a moment, evaluating him properly, before she smiled. “Good. We’re agreed this won’t happen, then?”

“Yes,” Combeferre nodded.

“Then it might be mutually beneficial for us—“ Combeferre’s gaze was far off and he seemed not to be paying attention when he interrupted.

“Yes,” he said quickly, looking back at her for a moment. “We’ll talk about this later, I’m sure. But right now I—here let me—“ Combeferre looked from side to side a little frantically. “Ah, Joly! Joly, over here!”

A shorter fellow with dark hair and a brightly colored mask in shades of yellow and orange appeared. “Yes?”

“Joly, this is Musichetta. Musichetta, Joly,” Combeferre gestured between them. “Why don’t you take her to get a drink?”

Musichetta looked between them, a little confused, but Joly seemed just as baffled. “Alright—“ she started.

“Great,” Combeferre interrupted again, still looking somewhere across the room. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” And then he was gone.

“That was weird,” Joly said, staring after him. “Oh well. I’d be happy to take you to get a drink,” he added, offering his arm.

Musichetta smiled kindly, linking her arm through his. “Why not?”

**

Courfeyrac didn’t mean to abandon Marius—really. He had firmly intended to stay with his cousin the whole night and cheer him up. But then, well, then he saw the gorgeous, tall boy hidden behind an owl mask and he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to him like a moth to a flame the second their eyes met.

Without really noticing, Courfeyrac slipped through the crowd and off into a hall to the side, just outside the main hall. He waited, counting the seconds, until the owl boy appeared around the corner.

They stood for a moment, silent and staring in wonder at each other. Courfeyrac felt struck and couldn’t begin to formulate words; he started mentally regretting every bit of teasing he had directed at Marius about his love life.

When he finally found the words, he managed to say, “Can I kiss you?”

Owl boy looked at him with surprise. “You don’t even know me,” he let out in a breathy laugh.

It wasn’t a no. Courfeyrac was very pleased to see it wasn’t a no—and that the boy seemed just as flustered and enamored.

“Do I need to?”

The boy gave him a look. “Yes.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “Yes, you’re right. I’m just…” Overwhelmed seemed like the right word. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. “I want to know you. I want to know every little thing about you.”

“That’s a better answer.” A warm smile spread across his face and he leaned in ever so slightly, a hand gently brushing over Courfeyrac’s cheek.

Courfeyrac took it as the sign it was and pressed their lips together, soft and chaste. When he pulled back, flushed and a little dazed, the boy followed him with his mouth.

They traded soft kisses until the sound of someone clearing their throat startled them apart.

“Oh, Bahorel,” the boy said, sounding relieved. “What is it?”

“Your mother’s looking for you,” he said.

Courfeyrac frowned, displeased with the thought of separation, though it placated him somewhat to see a matching look on the boy’s face.

“Can she wait?”

Bahorel shrugged. “If you don’t go to her soon, she’ll come looking for you.”

That brought a flush of pink to his cheeks and Courfeyrac didn’t think it was fair how cute it made him look. “You’re right,” he sighed, then turned to Courfeyrac. “Will you wait here? I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

Courfeyrac took his hand, bringing it to his lips. “Of course I will.”

“Alright, Combeferre, come on,” Bahorel interrupted, sounding amused. “Before you start _kissing_ again.”

The boy—Combeferre—gave an apologetic look and squeezed Courfeyrac’s hand before pulling away and disappearing back into the hall with Bahorel close behind. Courfeyrac watched him for a moment, thrumming with a mix of nervousness and excitement, until something dawned on him.

“Combeferre—as in Combeferre Capulet?” he spoke aloud, eyes going wide. “Uh-oh.”

**

“No wonder you don’t want to get married,” Bahorel teased the minute Combeferre’s mother released him. “ _Someone_ already has a boyfriend.”

Feuilly, another of Combeferre’s servants, appeared out of nowhere. “Who has a boyfriend? Combeferre?”

Combeferre grimaced at the pair of them. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he protested, leaving out how he wished he _was_. “I’ve only just—I don’t even know his name.” he admitted as he realized it. God, he really didn’t even _ask_ him what he name was. What had he been thinking?

“You were making out with someone whose name you don’t even know?” Bahorel crowed.

“ _What_?” Feuilly looked equally gleeful and Combeferre really was regretting his decision to become friends with either of them.

“We weren’t _making out_ ,” he protested, cheeks warm. “We kissed a few times, that’s it.”

“Oh, if _that’s_ it,” Feuilly grinned, nudging Bahorel. “That’s okay then.”

Bahorel laughter stopped suddenly. “Hey, isn’t that him over there? Near the door?”

Combeferre felt a surge of panic as he looked in the direction Bahorel gestured. “ _What_? He said he was going to wait for me,” he fretted the second he discerned that it really was… whatever his name was.

“Which one?” Feuilly asked.

“The one with the fox mask.”

Combeferre could only watch helplessly and hope the boy would come back; he was too far away to even entertain the idea of rushing to stop him.

“The fox?” Feuilly sounded startled. “Oh shit, really?”

Combeferre perked up. “Do you know him?”

For some reason Feuilly hesitated, looking uncertain. “That’s Courfeyrac Montague,” he admitted.

“What?” Combeferre gaped.

A Montague. Of course, it _had_ to be a Montague.

Combeferre groaned, face in hands, and ignored Bahorel’s boisterous laughter.


	2. Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention it's going to get more absurd with each act? Because it is.

Courfeyrac followed Marius and Bossuet through the grounds, frazzled. The boy he was in love with after a single glance (god, when had he turned into Marius) was a Capulet, he broke his promise to said boy and left without speaking to him because a different Capulet had apparently spotted Marius, _and_ Grantaire was missing. It was a lot to be frazzled about.

It wasn’t as if Courfeyrac cared for the feud between his family and the Capulets; the origin of it was so old, it hardly seemed relevant anymore. And the real matter behind their feud—the desire for each to be _the_ most powerful family in the city—wasn’t something Courfeyrac cared about. Not when both of their families misused their influence. He was planning to change things, once he was old enough to take over as head of the house, but for now his parents were still in charge and, while they were lenient enough to accept him marrying a man, they would never approve of a Capulet. Moreover, Courfeyrac couldn’t imagine Combeferre would _want him_ once he realized Courfeyrac was a Montague. And if that wasn’t enough to damn him, leaving without a word certainly would.

“Is something wrong?” Marius asked, full of concern.

Courfeyrac opened his mouth to explain, but thought better of it and shook his head. “I’m only worried about where Grantaire has gone to.”

“Sleeping in a gutter, no doubt,” Bossuet chimed in, moving in to throw an arm around Marius and the other around Courfeyrac. “You know how our friend likes his drinks.”

“You were supposed to watch him,” Courfeyrac muttered.

“And you promised dear Marius you’d stay by his side, didn’t you?” Bossuet countered, amused. “I’ve done nothing worse than you.”

Courfeyrac winced. “Right, Marius about that—“

“It’s alright,” Marius said easily.

Courfeyrac stopped, squinting at him. His cousin was _not_ this relaxed. No, Marius was the type to whine about a thing like this. “What happened?”

It was too dark to see properly, but Courfeyrac imagined Marius was blushing as he shifted with nervous energy. “You know the girl I love?”

“Ursula?”

“Well, her name is actually Cosette, but yes,” Marius explained. “She was at the party and I _spoke with her_. We even danced!”

“Can nuns dance?” Courfeyrac asked, confused.

“I don’t see why not,” Bossuet hummed. “As long as it’s not unseemly. You were a gentleman, weren’t you, Marius?”

“She’s not a nun!” Marius protested.

“Fine, a nun-to-be,” Bossuet corrected. “It doesn’t change much.”

Courfeyrac sighed. “Oh Marius.” This would only make him hurt more. Sure he seemed happy presently, but soon he would remember that he couldn’t have this girl and he would feel… well, a little like Courfeyrac was feeling at the moment.

“No, you’re not listening,” Marius huffed. “I’m trying to tell you there’s been a big mistake!”

“A mistake?”

“Yes,” Marius continued. “She does live at the nunnery like Eponine said, _but_ —“

“But?”

“But,” Marius gave Bossuet an exasperated look. “She only lives there because her father’s the gardener! She’s not a nun at all.”

“Really?” Courfeyrac asked, surprised. “Wow.”

Marius grinned. “I know! And we met again, spying each other through the giant fish tank—“

“Giant fish tank?” Bossuet repeated, amused.

“Yes, I saw her through it and she looked like an angel and—“

“Why was there a giant fish tank?”

Marius huffed. “It’s not relevant. What matters is it was pure magic and she said—“

“I think the magic giant fish tank is relevant,” Bossuet mumbled and Courfeyrac elbowed him.

“ _She said_ that she loves me too. All I have to do is speak with her father so I can court her properly.”

“Huh.” Courfeyrac stared in surprise. “That worked out well.”

Marius beamed. “Well you know what they say—the course of true love never did run smooth. But it always works out in the end.”

“Who says that?” Bossuet asked.

“I don’t know,” Marius shrugged. “Some guy.”

Bossuet laughed but Courfeyrac was struck with an idea. “You’re right, Marius,” he said slowly.

“I am?”

“Yes,” Courfeyrac grinned, ruffling Marius’ hair. “Yes, of course you are.” He turned around, starting to head back towards the Capulet’s manor, when Bossuet’s call stopped him.

“Where are you going?”

“Oh,” he spun around. “To find Grantaire. You two head home, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Courfeyrac waved them off and headed away before they could properly protest. Yes, Marius was right—true love would work out, he just had to persevere a little. And the first step to doing that was to find Combeferre’s room and break in.

**

Combeferre was just getting into bed when he heard a clatter of noise from his balcony. He hesitated, in half a mind to go find Bahorel and get him to check out whatever it was, before he decided he was probably overreacting. In all likelihood, it was a bird or some other small animal.

There was another thump. Combeferre edged towards the door to the balcony, picking up a heavy book as he went. Before he could step out, someone walked in.

Combeferre let out a strangled noise, swinging the book at the intruder and hitting him straight in the shoulder. Only when the intruder stumbled into the wall, yelping in pain, did he realize who it was.

“Oh god, I’m sorry!” Combeferre dropped the book, moving forward to touch Courfeyrac’s shoulder lightly. “Are you okay?”

Courfeyrac looked at him with surprise. “You hit me with a book!”

“Well, you broke in to my room,” Combeferre crossed his arms. “How did you expect me to respond to an intruder? With a cheese platter?”

“I don’t know,” Courfeyrac shrugged, turning flustered. “I thought it would be more romantic for some reason.”

Combeferre laughed. “I think it’s only romantic if I know you’re coming. Anything else is creepy.”

“Duly noted.” He smiled sheepishly, rubbing at his shoulder.

When it properly sunk in that Courfeyrac had come to find him, Combeferre couldn’t help but grin. “Hi.”

Courfeyrac grinned back. “Hi.”

“Oh. You should come in,” Combeferre said after a moment, taking his hand and leading Courfeyrac away from the wall and to the bed. Even as they sat down, neither pulled their hand away.

They were silent for a moment, Combeferre unsure of what to say, and Courfeyrac looked at him a little nervously. “So you’re not mad at me, are you?”

“What, for breaking in?” he asked, confused.

“No,” Courfeyrac said, sounding indulgent. Like Combeferre should know what he was talking about. “For leaving earlier.” _Oh_. “And for…”

“For being a Montague?” Combeferre suggested.

“So you know who I am,” Courfeyrac winced.

Combeferre smiled softly. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a name.”

“Oh good,” he sighed. “This whole feud is _idiotic._ A waste of everyone’s time and resources.”

“Exactly!” Combeferre marveled at him for a moment. “My cousin and I feel the same way; we want to change everything but—“

“We can’t yet,” Courfeyrac finished for him, excitement on his face. “I’m so glad you feel the same way.”

“Think of what we can do together.” Combeferre barely knew him but he could already see how much potential they had; putting aside the fact that he was very much in love already, he knew Courfeyrac would _fit_ with him and Enjolras. And the three of them together, uniting the Capulets and Montagues, they really could change the whole city.

Courfeyrac’s grin faltered suddenly.

“What?” Combeferre asked, confused.

“It’s just—“ He paused. “Right now we _can’t_. My parents would never approve of me being friends with a Capulet, much less…” Courfeyrac trailed off, squeezing Combeferre’s hand to get the point across.

Combeferre sighed, biting at his bottom lip. “My parents want an heir from me.”

“Oh.” Courfeyrac’s eyes were wide.

“We’ll figure something out,” Combeferre said, desperate to keep Courfeyrac by his side. “We have time. We’ll find a way to make everyone understand.”

Courfeyrac’s smile was soft and sweet, making his eyes crinkle warmly. His gaze was overwhelmingly fond and Combeferre felt his heart swell.

“For now though…” Courfeyrac leaned in to kiss him.

Combeferre pulled away with a teasing grin. “I thought you wanted to know everything about me first?”

“Starting with the ways you most like to be kissed,” Courfeyrac countered playfully, tangling a hand in Combeferre’s hair and successfully pulling him in for a kiss this time. “We can talk between kisses.”

Combeferre gave a warm laugh. “Very smooth.”

“I try.”

**

It was early morning, ending what was easily the best night of Courfeyrac’s entire life to this point, when Combeferre finally pulled away from him. They had spent hours talking about _everything_ there was to talk about (and kissing in between, yes he had definitely learned how best to kiss Combeferre). And now Combeferre was detangling himself from Courfeyrac’s grip.

Courfeyrac whined and tried to clutch at him. “Why are you leaving me? Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be right back,” Combeferre chided fondly. “If I get breakfast from the kitchens now and tell the servants to leave me alone, I can easily stay locked in my room until afternoon. Wouldn’t you like to stay?”

Courfeyrac stretched out on his bed, catlike. “Alright. I admit that’s a good plan,” he grumbled. “But hurry back.”

“I will.” Combeferre kissed his nose (and Courfeyrac made a scrunched up face) before climbing out of bed.

“I miss you already!”

Combeferre only laughed and vanished out the door.

Something about staying up all night made Courfeyrac fall into a doze as soon as he was left alone, in quiet, on the sinfully comfortable bed. When he woke, it was to the swish of a sword.

“You’re not Combeferre.”

Courfeyrac blinked sleepily, staring up to find a half-naked blond man with a sword pointed at him. And four kittens at his feet, meowing and playing with the hem of his pants.

“Am I dreaming?” he asked. It was too bizarre.

“You’re a Montague, aren’t you?” the blond continued, as if anything happening was rational.

Courfeyrac didn’t know what to say and was very lucky to have Combeferre return.

“Enjolras! Put the sword down,” Combeferre scolded, setting a tray with food down carelessly and rushing to Courfeyrac’s side. “Christ, no need to be so sword-happy.”

Courfeyrac, feeling infinitely more awake, sat up and watched the scene unfold.

“Why is there a Montague in your bed?” Enjolras asked, doing as he was told, but still looking skeptically at Courfeyrac.

“Because I invited him,” Combeferre snapped, a pink dusting his cheeks. He took Courfeyrac’s hand and Courfeyrac offered a smile. “Enjolras,” he cleared his throat. “This is Courfeyrac. You’ll like him, he wants the same things we do.”

Enjolras looked at him scrutinizingly, though his scary look was tempered by the kittens purring at his feet. “Fine. As long as you trust him.”

“Wait!” Courfeyrac exclaimed in the following silence, pointing at Enjolras’ kittens excitedly. “That’s why Grantaire calls you the King of Cats—because you actually have them.” Which was still odd to see. “Huh. I thought it was some weird dick joke.”

“ _What_?”

Before Courfeyrac could say any more, Combeferre intervened, steering the conversation elsewhere. “What are you doing in my rooms anyway, Enjolras?”

He shifted, looking uncomfortable. “I have to talk to you but—“ His eyes fell on Courfeyrac. “It can wait.”

“I can go if—“

“No,” Combeferre interrupted him immediately, clutching Courfeyrac’s hand. “I mean—we still have things to discuss.” He was flustered and _adorable_ , and if Enjolras wasn’t standing by looking a little murderous still, Courfeyrac would have kissed him.

To Courfeyrac’s great surprise, Enjolras’ harsh look softened and he gave a slight nod. “I’ll come back later.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Courfeyrac offered as he retreated, the four little kittens tripping over themselves to follow him out, and it was only half a lie.

“I think he liked you,” Combeferre said once Enjolras was gone.

Courfeyrac grinned, holding back his laughter. “Oh really?”

“Well, I like you,” Combeferre amended, seriously.

“That’s what really matters,” Courfeyrac nodded with the same seriousness before they both broke out into smiles.

**

It was well into the afternoon when Cosette came to call on Combeferre and yet he was sprawled across his bed and very clearly asleep when Feuilly led her into his rooms. Cosette frowned.  

“Do you want me to wake him?”

Cosette hesitated.

“He’s only asleep because his new _boyfriend_ was here all night,” Feuilly informed with a smirk.

“What?” Cosette gasped, delighted. Combeferre was, in the nicest way possible, boring. He didn’t _do_ things like have a secret boyfriend spend the night. That was too indecent. “Yes, wake him.”

Feuilly laughed lightly, then proceeded to jump on Combeferre’s bed with no mercy.

Combeferre gave a yelp as he woke and tumbled off the side of the bed, blinking sleepily up at them from the floor. Cosette couldn’t help giggling (Feuilly doing the same), even as he got cross.

“What’s going on?” He pulled himself up slowly.

Cosette sat on the bed, waiting for him to join her. “I have something to tell you,” she answered simply after a moment of deliberation. Yes, tell Combeferre first _then_ tease him about his new boyfriend. She turned to give Feuilly a smile. “Thank you, Feuilly.”

He nodded and took it as the sign it was, departing promptly and shutting the door behind him.

“What is it, Cosette?” Combeferre asked with a yawn, rubbing at his eyes.

“I’m getting married.”

“ _What_?” His mouth dropped open.

Cosette couldn’t help laughing. “Well not exactly,” she amended. “I mean I will be. Soon.”

“To who?”

She sighed dreamily, flopping back on the bed. “The most wonderful person in the world,” she said. “I met him at your party last night, actually. Well, I’ve seen him before but I never got to talk to him until last night, he was always running away.”

“You’ve known him _one night_ and you’re ready to marry him?”

Cosette gave a huff at his incredulity. “Sometimes all you need is one look,” she insisted; it was how she felt. And she knew things would work out, that they would be perfect together and always happy. “He’s perfect.”

She didn’t miss the way Combeferre’s face softened, nor the fact that he didn’t argue further.

“Well,” she amended. “He’s a Montague, so you’ll have to hate me from now on, I’m afraid. But as close to perfect as you can be otherwise.”

“A Montague?” Combeferre repeated, voice strangled. “Which?”

Cosette sat up, giving him a suspicious look. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” he insisted, sounding more as if he were convincing himself.

“Oh.” A delighted look took over Cosette’s features as she put the pieces together. She smirked. “Is your new love a Montague too?”

“ _What_?” His eyes went wide. “I don’t—“ One look at Cosette’s face and he gave up his protesting. “Who told you?”

“Feuilly.”

Combeferre sighed. “Why do I make friends with the servants if they aren’t going to keep my secrets?” he grumbled with no heat.

Cosette laughed airily. “If you must know, my Montague is Marius.” Even his name made her smile. “Which must make yours Courfeyrac, right?”

The same dreamy smile crossed Combeferre’s features. “Yes.”

“This is wonderful,” Cosette grinned bright, wrapping Combeferre in a hug. “We both found true love _and_ we’ll get to be cousins!”

She could feel Combeferre go stiff and pulled away, confused.

“My parents will never let me marry him—they don’t even know I…” he trailed off with a frown.

“It will work out,” Cosette said firmly, patting his arm comfortingly. “True love always does.”

“Cosette—“

“And more importantly,” she interrupted. “You have me to make sure it works out.”

Combeferre gave a weak smile at that.

Cosette smiled back. “In return,” she added innocently. “You could do me a small favor.”

“What?” Combeferre gave her a suspicious look—one she took great fake offense to.

“You know how very protective Papa is of me,” Cosette sighed. “And until Marius works up the courage to come speak to him, there aren’t many places we can meet.”

“You want me to invite him here.”

It wasn’t a question; Combeferre knew Cosette too well. She beamed. “I knew you would understand.”

“Cosette,” Combeferre looked at her, amused. “You do know this is the _worst_ place to try and bring a Montague, right?”

“Yes, but you clearly know how to break them in,” she pointed out. “Or was your forbidden love _not_ here last night?”

He flushed under her teasing.

“And I’m certain you must have plans to break him in again.”

Combeferre sighed, but Cosette knew it was more for show than anything. “Alright. I’ll send Joly with a message for Courfeyrac and Marius both.”

“I knew I could rely on my cousin-to-be,” Cosette grinned, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Now, can we make it tonight?”

Combeferre shook his head in amusement. “Fine. Come for dinner tonight; your father won’t question you returning late.”

“Perfect.” Cosette beamed. “You’re too good to me, Combeferre.”

She kissed his cheek once more before standing. “I must go tell Papa of my new dinner engagement,” she grinned. “See you in a few hours—and don’t forget to send Joly!”

Cosette waited to hear his _I won’t_ before she left, a new giddiness in her heart. With Combeferre’s help, nothing could go wrong.


End file.
